


And Another Song Was Sung

by up_so_floating



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, I don't actually know how magic works in canon and at this point I'm too afraid to ask, I have contributed to the quarantine fic boom and I can now die in peace, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Slow Burn, The official timeline is more like guidelines right?, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Yen is too dignified for pining but she sure yearns, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Has Feelings, at least between the boys, but also I love the dynamic between these three and we're gonna talk about some Feelings dammit, happy ending i swear, so much slow burn, some of them are Anger but that's valid, this is mostly plot focused ngl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23979238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/up_so_floating/pseuds/up_so_floating
Summary: If Jaskier had been a little less heartbroken or a little less tipsy, he probably never would have considered it. And if Yennefer had been a little less hurt or a little less fuckingfurious, she never would have suggested it in the first place.But here they were.And the chance to go back? To cut out the past twenty-some years and start over, to fix things? That was the best bad idea Jaskier had heard in a while.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 31
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look I don't know what I'm doing I've never published a fic before. All I know is there is a criminal shortage of time travel fix-its in this fandom and I'm here to be the change I want to see in the world.
> 
> Big, big thanks to the friend who beta'd this for me and wishes to remain anonymous. If you're here and see this please know I owe you my life and I appreciate you!
> 
> Title from _I Will Remain _by Matthew and the Atlas__

Jaskier had two goals after he trudged down that thrice-be-damned mountain: to finish the single most heartbreaking ballad of his entire career, and to get absolutely  _ shitfaced _ . He was three pages into the first and a measly two-and-a-half tankards into the second when his plans were abruptly cut short.

“That about me? I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted,” an unfortunately familiar voice broke in from behind him.

Jaskier scowled up from his notebook, very pointedly not looking at her, “Funny seeing you here, witch. I’d just been wondering how my week could get any worse.”

He had been going for scathing, but it came out more tired. Yennefer circled his table, claiming the seat across from him like she was planning to stay awhile, which didn’t bode well for whatever this conversation was shaping up to be.

“I see he fucked things up with you too,” she cast a judgemental eye over his notebook - currently open to some bitterly scrawled edits to  _ Her Sweet Kiss _ \- and the tankard next to it.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one with subpar insults today, because her disinterested drawl came out distinctly more bitter than she probably meant it to. Jaskier wasn’t the only one Geralt had hurt on that mountaintop, and it seemed the witch wasn’t over it either. Whatever they said about misery and company he supposed, but he didn’t buy for a second that was the only reason she was here in a hole-in-the-wall tavern talking to Jaskier of all people.

He huffed a sigh and met her eyes, “How did you find me and why bother? We both know I’m not exactly your favorite person.”

“You’re predictable as ever, bard. Wasn’t hard to guess you’d end up drowning your sorrows somewhere,” she raised an annoyingly perfect eyebrow. “And it seems someone’s recently taken your spot on the list of my least favorite people. You may have heard of him.”

So she was pissed then. Jaskier couldn’t blame her. Geralt undoubtedly deserved it. But among the many painful emotions he himself was feeling, anger wasn’t one of them. Maybe it should have been, but all he could muster was a crushing, suffocating sadness that ale and composing alike were struggling to take the edge off of.

“That’s not a ‘why,’” he noted, “If you’re looking for revenge, I’m not your man. If you’re looking for comfort, I’m not your man for that either, no offense.”

Yennefer scoffed, “If I were here for a bedmate, bard, it wouldn’t be you. I’ve found something that may solve our mutual problem, excuse me for thinking you might be interested.”

“Revenge, then. I’ve already told you --”

She cut off his protests with a wave of her hand and kept talking, “I’ve found a curse. An old one, and particularly nasty. I’ll admit I was impressed. But with a few modifications, it could serve our purposes nicely.”

“You’re not saying anything to inspire me, you know.  _ Our _ purposes don’t exist, we don’t want the same thing here. I’m not looking for revenge, and I don’t want to curse him. All I’m here to do,” he gestured at the table in front of him, “is finish my song, get drunk, and forget any of this ever happened.”

“Do you wish none of it ever happened?” she asked with a disturbing intensity. “Would you take any of it back, if you could?”

Well, wasn’t that just disturbingly philosophical? He hadn’t had Yennefer pegged as the poetic type, and romantic hypotheticals weren’t like her.

His eyes narrowed as he responded, “I don’t know, maybe. Why?”

“It exists, you know. Magic that can change time. It’s dangerous and difficult, but it’s possible,” she shifted, breaking the intensity in the air. “And I’m not talking about cursing him, I’m talking about cursing you.”

Jaskier blinked, “Um, great. I’ll pass, thanks.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not done, do listen before jumping to conclusions. This curse, it’s designed to make a person relive their worst mistakes. They would be stuck in their own past, unable to change a thing,” she smirked at him, “Ingenious, actually. I wish I’d thought of it, but it’s older than me. Regardless, it could be modified. Someone good enough could tweak it to allow the subject to change their past as they see fit.”

“Older than you, that’s a feat. What else is it older than, dirt?” he muttered. The insults were second nature, and they freed up time for him to consider the impact of her speech. 

“Are you?” he asked.

She raised a brow at him again, “Am I what?”

“Good enough to change it.”

“Obviously,” she managed to look offended with only the vaguest change of expression. “I’ve already done it. If I could curse myself I wouldn’t be bothering you, but I need either someone as good as me to cast it or someone else to cast it on.” Her gaze speared him again, “I’m not optimistic about the first, so the second option it is.”

His head was swirling. If she was actually proposing what he thought she was, this was a conversation he should probably have been completely sober for. Little late for that, he supposed. “You’re talking about sending me back? Back to when? And if I’m the one going back what’s in this for you?” He couldn’t imagine it was as simple as that. Not with magic like that at play, “How dangerous is this, exactly?”

“Slow down, bard. One question at a time,” Yennefer examined her nails as though she wasn’t casually proposing tossing him through fucking time. “Back to when you first met Geralt, I’d assume. I’d imagine that would be some sort of turning point in your life, it would be easy enough to aim for. It shouldn’t be too dangerous for you, but there may be side effects I can’t anticipate. Time doesn’t like being fucked with, or everyone would do it. As for what’s in it for me,” her voice got deadly serious again, “I need him to never make that wish. That's it. And I won’t be around to bother you again. One witcher all to yourself, isn’t that what you want?”

Jaskier glared at her, but refused to rise to that particular bait. He had more important things to contemplate. If he’d been a little less heartbroken or a little less tipsy, he probably never would have considered it. And if Yennefer had been a little less hurt or a little less fucking  _ furious _ , he was pretty sure she never would have suggested it in the first place. But here they were.

And the chance to _go back_? To cut out the past twenty-some years and start over, to fix things? That was the best bad idea Jaskier had heard in a while. He could start off on a better foot with Geralt. Never go to that betrothal banquet and get them tangled up with destiny, never mess with any fucking _djinn_. Never get his heart torn to pieces on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere.

It wasn’t really much of a choice, was it?

“What would I have to do?” His mind was already made up, and judging by the triumphant look Yennefer sent him, she knew it too.

“Which room’s yours?” She nodded towards the back of the inn.

“Second door on the left. But I haven’t agreed yet.”

Her eyes met his far more piercingly that he would have liked, “Haven’t you?” She stood, picking up her small bag and turning towards the rooms, “Meet me there when you’re done, if you’re still willing.”

He spluttered, “What, now? Just like that?”

She paused, flicking a glance back at him and his notebook. “Did you have other plans?” She turned away before he could answer.

He didn’t, of course, and she knew it. He’d spent the last twenty-two years trailing after a man who had made it very clear he didn’t want to see him again, and his plans for the rest of his life didn’t extend much beyond the evening. It didn’t hurt any less to see it spelled out though.

Settling his affairs was, honestly, depressingly easy. He left a few coins on the table for the ale, committed the last few lines in his book to memory, and stared blankly ahead for longer than he cared to count wondering what, exactly, he was about to get himself into. He didn’t  _ like _ Yennefer, but he couldn’t imagine her lying about this. The pain in her eyes was too real for that. Which meant Jaskier was actually about to leave everything behind and let a witch he didn’t even like curse him through time to re-meet a man who couldn’t stand him.

That would make a decent song. A shitty life story, but hey. He supposed there was a bright side to everything.

Jaskier wasn’t much for revenge, not against Geralt anyway. But he could admit to being a little selfish. If all he got out of this absurdly dangerous half-baked plan was the chance to see Geralt’s face not twisted in a snarl again - well, no worse than usual at least - then it would still be worth it to him. Which was probably pretty sad, but here he was.

Nothing more for it then, he supposed. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do first. He gathered up his things and took a deep breath before following Yennefer.

\---

Yennefer didn’t even look up as he came in the door, busy poring over the tiny laboratory she’d set up on top of the dresser, “About time, I was starting to think you’d changed your mind.” She added something foul-smelling to her mixing bowl, “Take off your doublet.”

“Buy me dinner first,” he shot back. “I have some questions before we get any further here.”

“I’m sure you do. Ask away,” She didn’t glance away from her work, but Jaskier figured it was the best he was going to get. 

“First, what happens to me anyway, after I go back? Do I just disappear here and no one has any idea where I’ve gone?”

“More likely, this whole timeline dissolves,” Yennefer said dryly. “It’s all a bit unprecedented, but that’s my best guess. You’d be changing things, and all this-” she motioned vaguely at the room around them, “-would never have happened. This future would never have existed.”

He blinked. “Pretending I understood that, you are saying there would be no  _ now _ to come back to, correct? This is a one-way trip? One chance and done?”

“Yes, I thought that was clear. I’m sure it’s going to work if that’s what you’re worried about. You won’t end up a child again or anything.” She rolled her eyes, ”Well, no more of one.”

He made a face at her back, which probably didn’t help his case. “Hilarious. Second question then: do I show up in the past as I am now, or as I was then? Can I take anything with me? Will there be  _ two  _ of me?”

“That’s more than one question. You’ll be exactly as you were then, the curse only affects the mind. I can’t send anything with you, but you won’t have to worry about your past self either.”

That was more or less what he expected, as much as he could expect anything with magic like this. Sorcery wasn’t his forte, to say the least.

“Third question then,” he continued, “Can I just tell him? ‘Hey Geralt, I’m from the future, stay away from Cintra, don’t mess with any djinn, trust me on this.’ I wouldn’t even have to stick around.”

He knew very well he was going to stick around regardless. One side effect of spending more than half one’s life following a witcher was not having many other hobbies to fall back on. But it would be nice to know anyway, if that would be all it took to avoid everything.

Yennefer pursed her lips at that, “That’s what I can’t be certain of. I’m not sure telling him would be the best idea regardless, as you’ll have no way to prove it. But this is still time we’re talking about. It may not change so easily, and I may not have been able to remove all the curse’s precautions. I have no idea how it would react to you telling someone. It’s possible it would make sure no one believed you, or keep you from saying it at all.”

He was silent for a moment, processing that. Inconvenient, but not completely unexpected. He hadn’t really been planning on just telling Geralt everything and hoping for the best anyway though. He couldn’t see that going well. 

“You’re sure this will work?” he asked.

“It will send you back, and you’ll be able to change things. That’s all I can promise.”

“Last question then, I think. Why me? You’re not doing this for me, why trust me with it?”

“You’ve got plenty of motivation to never want to see me again, and you’d follow him to the end of the world. I trust you to want to prevent that meeting from ever happening. As I recall, it didn’t go too well for you either,” Yennefer turned to face him at last. “And drinking yourself to death at this shithole would be a bit pathetic even for you, so I figured I’d offer.”

Jaskier appreciated the backhanded concern, he supposed. That was almost nice, by Yennefer’s standards. She was a bit harder to hate at the moment as well, but he’d still rather be mauled by wolves then admit it to her face. Thankfully, she went back to bitching at him pretty quickly. At least that he knew how to deal with.

“If that’s all then,” she snapped her fingers at him, “Doublet, off.”

He opened his mouth for an appropriately snappy comeback, but she steamrolled over him before he could say anything.

“I’ve got to paint the sigil on skin for it to work,” She waved her mixing bowl in his face, making him wrinkle his nose at the smell, “and it’s going to stay there. I was being nice and assuming you didn’t want it on your forehead, but that’s an option if you’re feeling shy.”

Jaskier took his doublet off. 

Yennefer produced a paintbrush and her bowl of smelly black gunk, and he rolled up his left sleeve at her expectant look. 

“You’re not getting my shirt off too,” he groused. 

“Thank Melitele,” she grumbled, and turned her attention to painting a pattern of swirling lines and dots on the inside of his forearm, just under his elbow. The smell was, if possible, even more gag-inducing that it had been in the bowl.

“Ugh,” he retched, “what is  _ in _ that?”

“Don’t move,” she barked, grabbing his wrist to steady it, “and you’re happier not knowing.” She finished her painting and met his eyes, “Last chance to back out, bard.”

“Do it.”

She nodded, putting down her brush. “Don’t let him make that wish,” she said firmly, “and do try your best not to see me again. I’ve had enough of you for two lifetimes.”

“It’s mutual, witch. You’ve got a deal.”

“Excellent,” she smiled pleasantly at him, “This is going to hurt.”

So did getting blamed for twenty-two years of fate and bad luck. So did losing his best friend and only meaningful relationship of twenty-two years, for good this time. So did finding his way down a mountain alone and heartbroken with no idea what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Jaskier figured it would fit in with the rest of his week pretty well. 

“Get it over with,” he said with an attempt at a grin, “I’m not getting any younger here.”

She gave him a truly impressive eye roll for that, but gripped his wrist tighter and started muttering in Elder. The ink on his arm started to burn, and he clenched his teeth as it spread up his arm. Yennefer’s chanting got louder, and he bit back a scream as searing pain reached his head and his vision turned white.

The things he did for Geralt of  _ fucking _ Rivia.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay, it's been a Minute since I started this and I honestly have nothing to say for myself. College is hard, so is mental health, and my hyperfixations have Massively shifted since ch. 1 was posted but here I am again with ch. 2. Big thanks to everyone who commented/left kudos on the last chapter, I suck at responding but I appreciate all of y'all.

Jaskier’s head really fucking hurt. So did everything else really, but the stabbing pain in his forehead was easier to focus on. The ringing in his ears wasn’t doing anything to help, and with the awful swirling feeling like the world was spinning around him, all he could really do was squeeze his eyes shut and try not to scream.

It could have been seconds or centuries when the room finally settled down and the ringing in his ears dulled enough for him to make out voices. Shouting voices. Which were not doing anything good for his still-throbbing head. Neither was something  _ nailing him in the forehead, fucking ow _ . He dimly registered himself shouting something back as he stumbled backwards, holding his lute up to protect his face.

Lute. He was holding his lute. Lute, shouting, throwing things. There were thankfully few times he’d been booed off a stage in his career, and only one he really bothered to remember the details of. And only then because something good had come of it.

His theory was confirmed when he managed to pry his eyes open, and found them staring at a familiar face. Geralt was tucked back at a shadowy corner table glaring at nothing in particular, just like he’d been when Jaskier had first seen him. Which was now. Which meant this was Posada, twenty-two years in the past. Which meant their crazy, terrifically stupid, heartbreak fueled catastrophe of a plan had actually worked.

Jaskier didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Breaking away from his staring would probably be a good first step. One thing at a time. He turned to put his lute away to buy himself a few moments of indecision. His lute which wasn’t  _ his _ lute. It was his old one, made of cheap wood and destined to be smashed apart by elves in a cave. In less than a day, if things played out the same way twice.  _ Weird _ .

Speaking of which, Jaskier very much wanted things to play out the same way. At least for now. The djinn incident wouldn’t happen for more than a decade, so if he didn’t manage to stick around that long there wasn’t much point to this whole quest. Or his life, but he wasn’t going to dwell on  _ that _ just now. So talking to Geralt had to happen, sooner rather than later.

He took a deep breath and spun towards Geralt’s corner table. He snagged a drink from a passing barmaid on the way, more for something to do with his hands than for the drink itself. Though that was a bonus, seeing as how he was no longer even remotely drunk.

“I love how you just, sit in the corner and brood,” he started. Which, come on. He’d had two entire decades to think of a better line than that, and now he couldn’t think of anything halfway decent.

Geralt’s glare shifted to him for a second, and  _ man _ didn’t that face hurt to see. “I’m here to drink alone,” he said, gruff and dismissive.

“Good, yeah, good,” Jaskier continued unruffled. He’d just been young and unable to take a hint the first time around, but now he knew what Geralt looked like when he wanted Jaskier gone and this wasn’t it. “It’s just, everyone else in here made their opinions on my music  _ very _ clear. Except you,” he sipped his drink as punctuation, “Which means yours is the only opinion here I care about.”

Which, oops, might’ve been coming on a little strong for someone he was never supposed to have met before. Get it together Jaskier, don’t make it weird. Fortunately, the witcher didn’t seem to notice, replying only with a vague “hmm.”

Nice try, it would take more than that to get rid of him. Jaskier took the opportunity to sit down, steepling his fingers on the table. “You must have some review for me,” he asked, “Three words or less.”

Geralt looked at him again, which was unnerving. It had been unnerving the first time, he remembered, to be pinned beneath those unnaturally golden eyes. It was unnerving now because Geralt was looking at him like a stranger. Not his companion and friend of twenty-two years, and not even the bane of his existence. Jasker wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

“They don’t exist.”

‘Hmm, what?” Jaskier was startled out of his train of thought.

“The creatures in your song.”

Right, he’d asked a question. A question that he’d already known the answer to. And now Geralt was looking at him like he was expecting a reaction and, fuck, Jaskier needed to say something  _ now _ that didn’t sound suspicious as all hell.

“And how would you know?” he said without really meaning to. That hadn’t been even on his list of things to say, but it was what he’d said the first time wasn’t it? It was official, younger Jaskier was a real idiot. Really, even at - what was he now, eighteen? Even at eighteen he should have recognised a witcher on sight, with all the stories he’d heard. And this was where he was supposed to be surprised, wasn’t it? Better get on that.

“Oh, fun,” he said, feigning realization as best he could, “I should’ve guessed. What with the, the white hair, and the scary brooding, and the scarier swords.” Geralt got up to leave, which was his cue. “You’re the witcher, aren’t you?” Jaskier scrambled up to follow him, raising his voice to carry, “You’re Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt gave no sign he’d heard him, but the rest of the tavern did. Conversations tapered off, replaced by a hushed silence and cautious stares. Jaskier almost felt bad, but one of the patrons hastily stepped up to Geralt to offer him a job, which was exactly what he needed to happen. A devil stealing grain they’d said, if he remembered right. Jaskier watched him leave with the patron’s coin in hand, and hurried to pack up his lute with a grin. He had a witcher to follow.

\---

Following Geralt was a lot easier when he knew exactly where he was going. Jaskier had to admit, he still wasn’t quite sure this _ travelling back in time _ thing wasn’t just a very realistic dream or something, but knowing things ahead of time was  _ convenient _ . 

For that matter, so was being eighteen again. Jaskier liked to think he’d aged very gracefully, thank you very much. His crow’s feet were barely noticeable,  _ Yennefer _ , and a few gray hairs weren’t enough to bother him much. But that said, the distinct lack of any aches and pains and old injuries was definitely a perk of this whole business. If it was even real.

Wait. Yennefer had mentioned something about the symbol she’d painted on his arm. Jaskier checked to make sure he was alone on the path and slipped his doublet off, shoving his shirt sleeve up above his elbow. The symbol was in fact still there, but it was no longer in lines of black paint. It now looked like an old scar, maybe a burn or a brand, of raised lines pink against his skin. And it was still a bit tender to the touch, which made sense with the scorching pain that had gotten him there in the first place. A point in favor of this not being a dream then.

It was small, and wouldn’t be too hard to hide. The pattern didn’t make much sense either, and probably wouldn’t give anything away even if it was seen. If Jaskier turned his head just right, he could almost make out something vaguely like an hourglass. Or maybe he’d been staring at it for too long. He put his (old, destined to be ruined by swamp mud) doublet back on and shook his head. Time for ruminating later. Right now, he was falling behind.

He didn’t have long to go before catching up with Geralt, almost exactly as he remembered.

“Need a hand?” he said in the cheeriest voice he knew, “Fear not, my friend, I am here to help.” He probably could have done without the  _ my friend _ , at least on what was technically still a first meeting, but at least it meant he could go off-script. Yennefer had promised he could change things, but he’d have been lying if he said he hadn’t still been a bit worried.

“Go away,” Geralt grumbled back. Typical. “We’re not friends.”

Well. It seemed some things never changed. Jaskier beamed. He’d worn the stubborn bastard down once, and he could do it again. Geralt may never have actually admitted they were friends, but still. Jaskier could read between the lines.

“Ah, but we could be. Perhaps you could use a bard? I could be your barker. Someone to sing the praises of Geralt of Rivia, the…” he couldn’t bring himself to say  _ Butcher of Blaviken _ again, not when he knew how Geralt felt about that title. He wasn’t too keen on getting gut-punched again either. “The, the White Wolf... or something, I don’t know. It’s a work in progress, I’ll think of something.”

“Hmm.”

Which was one of Geralt’s usual  _ fuck off _ “hmm’s,” but it was not a  _ fuck off and die _ “hmm,” which meant Jaskier was fine. He heard that one a lot, it was basically background noise at this point. The sky was blue, water was wet, and Geralt said “hmm.” Everything made sense again. This, Jaskier could deal with.

\---

The whole business with the elves went down almost exactly as Jaskier recalled it. Of course, he had a vested interest in keeping it that way, and his mouth seemed to remember what he’d said the first time around even if he didn’t. Which was convenient, because he hadn’t exactly been keeping notes for the last two decades. It wasn’t like he’d been planning on doing it all again. 

If anything he felt a little worse about the insults this go around, but the elves were the ones who kidnapped  _ them _ after all. And they broke his lute, so he couldn’t bring himself to be too upset about it. Apparently he hadn’t pissed them off too badly anyway, because he’d still gotten a very nice replacement out of the whole ordeal.

Speaking of, the fine elven lute sounded just as lovely as he remembered it. Oh, he’d missed her, even if it had only been a day. Jaskier had been passing the time by plucking a few scattered chords of  _ Toss a Coin _ as they made their way back towards town, and he could tell Geralt was about to tell him to go be a bother somewhere else. Although, probably not in so many words.

“I was serious, you know,” he started. “When I said I’d be your barker. You seem to be suffering from a bit of an image problem, and with what I saw back there,” he nodded behind them, “I think everyone’s got it wrong. I could help you with that.”

Geralt finally looked back at him, “This is where we part ways, bard. For good.”

Yeah, not if Jaskier had anything to say about that. 

“Look, I promise I can change their tune about you. At least let me try.”

Before Geralt could say anything to dispute that, he started up a familiar melody. Slowly, tentatively, and trying to pretend he hadn’t played it a thousand times before, Jaskier let the first few notes of  _ Toss a Coin _ fill the air.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along…”

Singing felt good, even if he was trying to sound worse than he was at the moment. He was nearly done with the first verse when Geralt interrupted him.

“That’s not how it happened. Where’s your newfound respect?”

Jaskier met his eyes with a sad smile, “Respect doesn’t make history.”

“And you think this will?” Geralt looked skeptical. 

Jaskier couldn’t really blame him, but he knew his trade. And the future, which was handy. The song would work. People would slowly start to treat Geralt with a bit more kindness than grudging acceptance, and Jaskier could only assume it helped the other witchers as well. As a bonus, the elves were left alone. They hadn’t been his priority when he’d written it, but no warmongering humans went looking for a fight they thought had already been won. Jaskier may not be able to fight monsters, but words were a formidable weapon in their own right.

“I’m pretty confident,” Jaskier replied with a grin.  _ It’s been done before _ , he was going to say. If only as his own private joke. But before the words could escape his mouth, he was doubled over coughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

_ Fuck _ . There was no possible way that was a coincidence. Yennefer had warned him the curse might not let him tell anyone what had happened, and that must have counted as too obvious a hint. The coughing subsided and he caught his breath to see Geralt looking at him with a raised eyebrow. If he remembered his Geralt-looks correctly, that was genuine concern covered up with  _ please tell me you aren’t dying right now, that would be very inconvenient _ .

“Worry not, my dear witcher!” Jaskier had some things to worry about, but he’d do it later when curious witchers weren’t waiting for an explanation. The elves hadn’t kicked him  _ that _ hard, and he should probably avoid letting Geralt think he was injured if he didn’t want to be caught in the lie. He settled for dramatically sighing, “The common cold vexes us all, I’m afraid. Musical talent and natural good looks notwithstanding.”

Geralt turned away with a roll of his eyes, which was exactly what Jaskier was hoping for. Obnoxious, dramatic, self-absorbed bards were one thing, but  _ hiding something important _ bards were something else entirely. Geralt would tolerate the first, Jaskier knew from personal experience. The second, he would probably find an excuse to leave in the dust at the first opportunity, and Jaskier couldn’t risk that. 

For now, crisis averted. He’d just have to be careful. And subtle. And avoid talking about things he shouldn’t. None of these things were among Jaskier’s strengths, but he’d make it work. For now, he was back with Geralt. All was right in the world. And he had a song to finish “composing,” which would doubtless provide countless hours of entertainment in the form of one very annoyed witcher.

Yeah, things were good. Jaskier could work with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier, coughing up a lung: fuckin colds amirite?  
> Geralt: that doesn't sound right but I don't know enough about humans to dispute it

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest with y'all, posting this is terrifying, but I couldn't shake this idea and decided now was as good a time as any to actually write for once. I hope you guys enjoy this too!


End file.
